It's A Cold And It's A Broken Hallelujah
by Warpeday
Summary: What makes a Boondock Saint? Everyone must have a past, a life that has shaped who they have become.For Connor and Murphy this is theirs


Title:It's A Cold And It's A Broken Hallelujah  
Author: Warpeday  
Pairing: Hints of Connor/Murphy  
Rating: PG-13  
Warnings: Nothing more graphic than the movie itself  
Disclaimer: I am not associated with anything Boondock Saintish other than the fandom.  
Summary: It's a pre-movie look at Connor and Murphy, and a glimpse into the thoughts and lifestyle that made them the Boondock Saints. If you squint hard it's a Connor POV.

**It's A Cold And It's A Broken Hallelujah**

Connor knows that Murphy is his. His brother, his twin, his life, his everything. The feeling has dulled and faded over the years, the sharpness that used to take him by surprise has long gone, leaving only comfortable familiarity.

He does remember that they were always _different_, different in ways that no one would even mention let alone explain. But any difference between them is only noticeable after they hit school.

While he is larger and lighter with gold kissed skin, Murph is awkward bones and shadowed eyes.

His ma's smile now falters when she sees them side by side, and Connor, with his adolescent ignorance, doesn't pay attention when he sees the neighbours whisper as they pass and neither (he figures) does Murph. But one night, barely a week past their 14th year, Murph confides in him about The Secret. And suddenly Connor understands.

And in the darkness of the night they make an oath sworn in blood, because even as children they realise that there is a marked difference between understanding and knowing.

Summer afternoons soon slip into autumn days which in turn slip to winter, and then it's hands that never warm and ghostly drafts. The nights grow so cold that their only other brother, Colin, falls so deep into sleep that he never wakes up, not even as they lower his casket into the ground.

Murph can't help but fidget at the funeral, but Connor is used to the frustration it causes by now. He used to figure that this orchestra of movement was Murph's way of letting the world know he was there. However new suspicions had formed in his mind, most revolving around The Secret, although thoughts like this seem to have infiltrated everything.

The Secret isn't mentioned between them for almost a whole year, not until the marriage of Calleigh, the eldest of the Other Children. They are sitting in the church, starched, pressed and thoroughly uncomfortable when Connor notices their arch-nemesis heading for them. Old Aunt Maude has always been a figure of imposing gruffness and single-minded holiness that has scared any possible suitors away for good. Connor will always hate her for the way she looks at Murph that day, one part horror two parts disgust.

It isn't too long after this that both he and Murph decide that the blood flowing through their veins has nothing to do with family.

Times change in Ireland, and by the time they are 15 words like War. Death. Hate. Blood. litter every sentence and newspaper headline. Of course Connor doesn't care about any of this. He and Murph are in a real fucking gang, and have also answered the blood calling that every Irishman has for the drink.

Surprisingly they find it a more affordable indulgence than the lollies and soda others of their age still enjoy.

And of course when there's drink the smoke is never far away, and very soon both he and Murph are addicted to the inhale.burn.exhale of twenty or more cigarettes a day.

After their ma finds an empty bottle or two in their room (shared both out of necessity and choice) she sends them off to talk with Father Mullrey. The Father's a deceptively slim man, with looks that are familiar but strange all at once. He sits them down on a cruddy couch and just starts to talk. Suddenly it's three hours later, and the Father slips them a bible and two crude wooden rosary beads as they walk out the now hallowed doors.

Ma has never taken them to Sunday mass. Of course she has taken them through all the rituals and prayers and guilt that being an Irish Catholic entails, but never has she thought them interested in God.

Connor doesn't mind this, because every Sunday morning he and Murph make the trek to the cemetery, and kneel before the statue of crying Jesus. This is their church. A place where sin and death and God are as close as humanly possible, this is what **true** faith is really about.

They take this utter devotion to faith and their lord with them when they leave Ireland, packed away along with their life savings and cigarettes. Murph's been restless for a while now, he knows they need to start the rest of their life.

This journey starts off in New York but the pace of life there is just too fast for them, however the fact that they can be Irish twins in identical clothes without being given a second glance amuses them for a while.

But this is not enough and by the week's end the two are already hitching their way elsewhere. Connor knows it's really just luck that dumps them in Boston. A place where the night is filled with crime and blood, but the days are all about struggle and faith.

Boston is like finding a slice of home in the vastness of a foreign land, and he and Murph cling to it with desperation. They settle down in a community of industrial warehouses turned residential, choosing to live out of a one-room loft, in a building whose inhabitants _'ain't never seen nuffin.'_

It's been more than a year but less than two when they receive a letter from their ma. Old Aunt Maude, who grudgingly set them up with their first part time jobs, was attacked and murdered while walking down the street in broad daylight.

Connor is surprised to find that he grieves, Murph however, is not that forgiving _'Who the fuck would wanna get that close to that old hag?'_

By now they both have jobs at the local meat packers, it's long hours and dull work but they get by with the help of the drink and their after hours hobby of bare knuckle boxing. There is something beautiful in this violence, maybe it is that both he and Murph know every drop of blood they spill is Ireland in its purest form.

They wake up the morning after a particularly long night of drinking with their religion ingrained as deeply into their flesh as it is in their lives. It's such a marvellous idea that Murph makes him swear to get a new marking every year.

Years slink by, with only ink on skin to mark their passing, and it's coming up to their 27th year on God's earth. Connor knows that there's a change brewing in the air. Murph, as always, has the deeper connection. He can feel the change in his bones and his usual hot-blooded ways have flared to a boil.

It's Saint Paddy's day and the underground cellar is hot and muggy, the crowd is frantic and Connor watches on as Murph beats his opponent down with uncharacteristic fury.

The fight doesn't last long. Within a few minutes Murph is declared victorious, a harsh cry echoing in the silent room. Connor, standing metres away yet still sprayed with blood, doesn't even blink when they politely tell him to get _'that fucking psychopath of yours'_ and never come back.

They've been drinking away the last of their savings, already well and truly pissed and spoiling for a fight when a couple of Russians walk in. They can smell the fight in the air -all grit and blood- Murph is smiling, it's still St. Paddy's day after all.

Morning is a patchwork of hazy memories and half formed pains, a pain that only increases tenfold with the daylight attack. Connor can feel the heat and anguish bubbling under his skin, erupting over onto the steel coolness of the ceramic and steel that traps him. As he saves his brother he doesn't feel guilt nor fear, only a frantic whispering in his heart that spurs him on, driving his actions.

That same whisper comes to them in a jail cell late at night, when God and the unknown snap within to form something both powerful and new.

It has been building for a long time now, but finally he and Murph are ready to take their first steps down a new path.


End file.
